


your brittle heart

by yuyangs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuyangs/pseuds/yuyangs
Summary: As soon as he opens his eyes, he knows something is off.He feels it, that deep clench of his stomach, the quickening pace of his beating heart, the low buzz by the side of his ear. All telltale signs that tell him that something is completely wrong.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 136
Collections: slow motion double vision in rose blush





	your brittle heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a vent so it's quite rough around the edges.
> 
> heavily inspired by [peace by ts](https://youtu.be/HpxX4ZE4KWE)

As soon as he opens his eyes, he knows something is off.

He feels it, that deep clench of his stomach, the quickening pace of his beating heart, the low buzz by the side of his ear. All telltale signs that tell him that something is completely _wrong._

It rains outside; it patters against the windows heavily, the faint light from the streetlamps are covered in the worst of the storm. The dull red glow of the clock on his nightstand tells him that it's just past two AM. The white noise of the rain does nothing to drown out the impending build of dread that Kiyoomi feels from the tip of his toes, slowly rising up to his chest to his neck and his head. It's disorienting when you wake up from the remnants of a panic attack. The fear is still spiked in him and he tries to will it away only for there to be shackles rusting at his feet.

He needs to get out of here but his body stays frozen in place. He can't seem to move.

"Omi?" he hears a voice whisper, groggy and tired but his head snaps to the source.

The man looks up at him through bleary eyes, blinking at him evenly, a slight frown on his face. Then, recognition flashes through him and Atsumu sits up, his body casting a shadow over Kiyoomi's, the light from the streetlamps outside seemingly fading into the background.

"D'ya need anythin'?" Atsumu asks slowly, practiced and familiar.

Kiyoomi shakes his head, the blankets still pulled over his shoulders. He feels so cold all of a sudden.

Atsumu nods. "Is it okay if I touch ya?"

"Yeah."

Carefully, a hand reaches out and lands on Kiyoomi's cheek. It's warm.

Atsumu thumbs away tears he didn't know were spilling. Too late, Kiyoomi realises how wet his throat feels. Is it possible to drown when you're not even submerged?

The other man shifts and soon his body is pressed against him, it tethers the wisps of his being back to reality, an anchor thrown onto the ocean floor as a tempest rages through his body. Hopefully, he finds the eye of the storm soon.

"Yer shakin', Omi," Atsumu whispers. His arms go on to wrap around Kiyoomi's shoulders and he brings him close. Fingers thread through his hair, as Atsumu gently cradles his head.

"It's just cold." Kiyoomi buries his nose in the crook of the other's neck and breathes in slowly, deeply. He smells of the citrus shampoo he uses and their shared laundry detergent.

He doesn't remember the dream he was having before he woke up in panic but now he wonders if this is one too. _It's a good dream then,_ he thinks.

Sometimes, Kiyoomi wonders when he'll wake up from this one. Or when Atsumu will snap out of it one day. It's strange how he's stayed, how they both stayed. Sometimes, Kiyoomi thinks that this is almost too good to be true, but when he pinches himself, he doesn't wake up, he doesn't jolt awake from this uncharacteristically _very_ good dream.

He pulls back and cranes his neck only to find amber eyes staring at him, watching his every move.

Kiyoomi doesn't really get it.

He doesn't get why Atsumu has put up with him for so long. Most people think it's Atsumu who's the difficult one in their relationship; he's louder, cocky and boisterous, an overall easier target. But Kiyoomi knows something most people don't; he knows that _he's_ the one with the danger rumbling in the base of his stomach, the one who would rather burn himself than sit down and have an honest conversation about how he _feels,_ he knows that he's the one who's much more capable of actually _hurting_ Atsumu.

He knows that sometimes, on a good day, Atsumu is able to lead him around by the hand, helping him avoid the traps of his own mind. Sometimes, Atsumu's blue waves cascade over the flesh that he burnt in the process, it stings at first but then it balms. And when he's hurt, Atsumu looks at him in the eye and tells him that he's owed an apology.

It wasn't always like this. They didn't always have a system.

Kiyoomi remembers when they first met and how much he hated Atsumu.

Back then, he was still 'Miya' and he still had that god-awful piss-coloured hair.

Everything was so much more confusing when you put two competitive and hormonal teenagers together in the same camp when one of them was still reeling back from a crushing defeat that happened only months prior.

"You!" Atsumu had said, pointing his finger right at him as soon as he saw Kiyoomi walk through the doors of the Ajinomoto Training Center. "I'll crush ya!" his Kansai-ben leaked through his words in his otherwise pathetic threat.

"Do I know you?" Kiyoomi asked, knowing full well who the other person was.

He still remembers how Atsumu's face reddened at that, how later in the day, Atsumu sent him a toss that was a little more perfect than what he was used to, how pissed off he was at that. He remembers how when they switched teams, Kiyoomi sent a spike right in his direction, knowing full well that it was just going to bounce off of Atsumu's arms like it was supposed to. Until it didn't.

He was met with a fox-like grin after Atsumu managed to receive the ball with the kind of ease he had only encountered in his cousin.

What the fuck?

"I was preparin' for that one, _Omi-kun,_ " the boy sneered.

"Whatever, Miya."

And Kiyoomi decided that he was going to spike another ball towards him later. And this time, he was going to aim for the head.

It's funny though, how their fights even as adults didn't change that much. Sometimes he wonders if they're just really childish or if they were really mature as sixteen year olds.

(It's definitely the former.)

There are days when it gets really bad.

During those days, Atsumu would glare at him, eyes red as if holding back tears. For all his loudness and ill-conceived arrogance, Atsumu's anger would be quiet.

His lips would quiver as he pauses before his next few words.

"Yer so _difficult_ sometimes. Fuck."

The footsteps would echo around the room and the front door would slam.

It's those days that almost convince Kiyoomi that Atsumu will finally leave. That Atsumu has finally had enough of all of the obstacles in Kiyoomi's life that he put there by himself.

But then at night, not that different from this one, Atsumu would crawl back to their bed, their backs facing each other as he mumbles words like,

"That was shitty, Omi. But I was bein' shitty too. I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Kiyoomi would say in return before he feels warm arms around him and a breath in his ear.

"I love ya so much."

He would cling to Atsumu then, his fingers gripping into his shirt, wondering what was it that changed in between their short-lived rivalry in high school and the way they can't seem to breathe without each other now. "Yeah, me too."

In fact, Kiyoomi remembers the first time he ever thought those words. Three important words that changed the course of his life forever.

It was over something completely mundane and inconsequential to most people. Atsumu was sitting on his couch back then, watching TV as Kiyoomi made them coffee. That was a recent development between them, one that took months after Kiyoomi joined the Black Jackals. Them watching their opponent's matches and analysing their plays became a new routine. They weren't exactly friends but somehow, Atsumu managed to wheedle his way into Kiyoomi's life, through all the nooks and crannies of his apartment and the chips on his mug and in his shoulder. 

When he set the mugs down on the coasters, Atsumu eyed them suspiciously at first.

"Hey, Omi," he started. "How come ya know how I take my coffee?"

Kiyoomi squinted. "Was it supposed to be a secret? Everyone knows you just dump sugar in it."

"Huh. Damn, do I really do that all the time?"

Kiyoomi nodded and turned his attention to the TV. Nothing about the match was going into his head anymore, his mind was still buzzing from Atsumu's words. So what if he paid attention to what his teammates did? It wasn't that big of a deal. Atsumu did the same thing too, with how he would help Kiyoomi wipe down the chair before he sat down next to him whenever their team went out to an izakaya, the way Atsumu would shower every time before setting foot into Kiyoomi's apartment, sometimes Atsumu would even hold the door open for him through his sleeve so that Kiyoomi wouldn't have to do it himself and worry about the germs contracted on his clothes. Atsumu started carrying spare masks too.

It was all habit. Things anyone would start noticing or doing after spending a certain amount of time with someone else. It was natural, logical even.

Still, he felt his chest constrict, different from a panic attack that he's used to. It was warmer, fuzzier, blurred around all the edges, gentle in its thrumming. When he turned back to Atsumu, all he could see was soft lines despite the furrow of his brows and the jut of his lip in concentration. He liked Atsumu like that. He might have even loved him like that.

And that silent confession was where Kiyoomi knew that he was doomed.

When Atsumu first told him that he loved him, Kiyoomi passed out.

It was horrible for Kiyoomi and if the cold Atsumu got a few days later was any indication, it was horrible for him too.

He was sick. A rare occurrence. Since joining the Jackals almost two years prior, he could count the number of times he had ever gotten sick on one hand. That number, of course, was proudly at zero before he somehow managed to catch a bug two weeks before the season started.

He stayed at home then, in bed, feeling sorry for himself. He hated it. He was always careful about taking care of his body so that it doesn't get anywhere between him and volleyball and yet, there he was, surrounded by crumpled up tissues and far too exhausted to care about the mess in his room.

He was too tired to hear the front door click open, only realising that there was a trespasser when Atsumu stood by the doorway, a mask covering half of his face.

"How're ya doin', Omi?" he asked.

"Bad. I feel gross so I think you should go." God, his voice even _sounded_ disgusting.

Atsumu walked into the room regardless of his weak warnings and Kiyoomi finally noticed the plastic bag he was carrying.

"What's that?"

"Oh, this?" Atsumu said, before placing the bag on his nightstand. "I got ya yer supplies. I know ya normally have a pharmacy in yer apartment but I figured ya might need some of these." He took out the contents of the supplies; some meds that Kiyoomi had no idea how Atsumu knew he ran out of, a couple of bottles of his favourite brand of sanitizer, a box of three-ply masks. Then he stepped out of the room, disappearing into somewhere as Kiyoomi felt his eyes shut.

When he woke up again, he smelled porridge.

"Personally, I think _I_ should've been the one who became a chef. Too bad I have an infinite amount of talents," Atsumu said as he placed the tray on Kiyoomi's lap.

"Is shutting up one of them?"

"I have _many_ talents."

Kiyoomi laughed a little but felt it get stuck in his throat, it was too sore. The porridge wasn't that bad. It was actually good if he was being honest. Atsumu was always the better cook between them, not that Kiyoomi ever admitted it.

Hours passed and Atsumu still stayed there by his side, refusing to leave even when Kiyoomi started to throw a fit.

"God, can you just leave? I don't want you catching it, Atsumu!" he whined.

"Yer so cute like this, Omi. Ya should get sick more often."

"I'll end you."

"Yeah? With all that snot runnin' down yer nose? I'm so scared."

"Fuck you."

Atsumu placed a hand on his forehead, pushing his curls out of his eyes. Kiyoomi was too tired to complain again so he just let him do it this time. He was weak.

"Y'know, ya should stop bein' so freaked that I want ta take care of ya," Atsumu whispered, though his voice sounded too loud to be a whisper, it felt like a declaration, an admittance.

"I just feel a little weird when you do that, 'Tsumu," Kiyoomi found himself saying, his eyes closed.

"It would be weirder if I didn't do it when I love you so much. Is that selfish of me?"

Kiyoomi wanted to answer then, he wanted to say 'no'. He wanted to reassure Atsumu, like how Atsumu always reassured him, that it was okay. That he _can_ love him. That he wasn't being selfish. That he was far from it. But sleep pulled him in too early and all he saw was darkness.

Sometimes, the darkness gets overwhelming and he can't claw his way out of that abyss. At that point, nothing can help him. He gets consumed by his own thoughts and the words fill his head with white noise. When this happens, he can't help but think about how much of an inconvenience he is.

Because those are the days where he doesn't speak to anyone, not even Atsumu who hovers around him to make sure he's okay, not letting Kiyoomi be alone in his own thoughts. Atsumu doesn't say much when Kiyoomi spirals. He just asks if he needs anything or if he can hold him, if he can kiss him or touch him.

And Kiyoomi just nods or shakes his head, wondering if this ship can dock in the darkness of the night. Will he crash into the rocks or will the lighthouse lead him to safety? Most of the time, he finds that it's the latter.

He doesn't get why though.

He doesn't get why Atsumu holds him, or whispers encouragement to him, or why he stays. Atsumu reminds him all the time, and yet words as simple as "I love you" are still difficult for Kiyoomi to voice out loud. He wants to say them, especially on days where Atsumu builds him back up from the ruins of his own personal war. But he can't. It's too difficult to say, not because he doesn't but because he does.

On those days, exactly like this one, Kiyoomi would apologise instead.

"I'm sorry," Kiyoomi whispers.

Atsumu quirks up an eyebrow at this. "What for? Wakin' me up? 'Cause don't."

He shakes his head. And then he lets the quiet confession breathe out into the night. "For not loving you like how you love me." He thinks about all his little burdens that Atsumu chooses to carry. "Isn't it tiring?"

At this, the other man barks out a laugh. "Oh, Omi. Yer so stupid sometimes. What's the use of a college degree if ya still ask me dumb questions?" 

Kiyoomi scowls and is about to speak when Atsumu cuts him off.

"I've never expected ya to. I want you to love me like how _you_ love _me._ "

"Is it enough?" he asks.

"More than."

He feels his face heat up, suddenly grateful that it's too dark for Atsumu to see.

"Yer heatin' up, Omi. Fever?" Atsumu asks too innocently as he places the back of his hand on Kiyoomi's forehead, a cheshire grin on his face.

Kiyoomi scoffs, turning away as he wills his ears to stop turning red too. "Yeah, I'm getting sick of you."

"Ya don't mean that."

He considers this. "No, I don't."

"Gross! Yer such a sap."

Kiyoomi frowns. "We're literally dating."

Atsumu shrugs. "Yeah, but it still feels like a dream sometimes. I didn't think ya'd say yes. Was even goin' ta beg at one point."

"No, you weren't."

"No, I wasn't."

Despite himself, Kiyoomi laughs. It bubbles through him, welling up from his stomach before it pops, dispelling whatever anxieties he might have had, just for the moment. Just for tonight. He decides that it might be one of the good nights after all.

And then he feels the pull of sleep. It tugs at his chest, slowing the pace of his heart, the weight of the night causing his lids to get heavy too.

"'Tsumu, I'm tired."

"Then ya should sleep."

He feels the patting of a hand on his back over the two blankets he's currently cocooned under. The steadiness of its rhythm is almost like a song in his ears, a beating drum that echoes his own heartbeat.

"What about you?" he asks, eyes already closing.

"I'll stay up for a little longer. It's okay, Omi. You can just sleep."

He feels a pair of lips press onto his forehead. Soft and gentle as the rain on the windows and the fingers in his hair. When he eventually drifts off, he dreams of nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I still have finals going on and I just needed an outlet for my stress. I will get back to "one for sorrow, two for joy" after my exams 😌
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy whatever this was.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/atsumu_twt) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/atsumu_twt)


End file.
